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Wednesday, 22 March 2017

Wednesday Snippet - You had to be wild...

So it has been a particularly good few days for writing! I think yesterday was the first day in about a week I haven't written at least 1k a day, and I've even squeezed out a few 2k sessions. Given that a couple of weeks ago I could barely raise my arms above my head for pain, I feel pretty good about that.

Thus, I think it's a good time, for no reason, to visit with Tristesse. Enjoy!

Snip!

She
didn’t know how many days passed before her father came. At the
best of times, she was indifferent to his presence. This was
certainly not the best of times. He stood at the door, fingers laced
around the metal bars and stared in at her. In the darkness it was
hard to gauge his mood. He was not one given to expressing his
emotions and Tristesse was not well-placed to judge in any case. But
when he spoke, his voice dripped with venomous disdain.

“You had to run, didn’t
you? You had to be wild. After all these years – decades – of
patience, you had to be impetuous. You could have destroyed
everything.”

Tristesse scraped her nail
down the wall, tracing a shallow gouge she’d made earlier, and said
nothing.

“And for what?” he
continued. He had never needed her to answer to carry on a
conversation. In fact, he probably preferred her silence, which made
her want to scream at him. “A brief sojourn in the mortal realm?
You are not a child, Maalik! We stand on the threshold of true power,
of your birthright, and you would spurn it all. Where is your sense
of duty? And if you have no sense of duty, where is your ambition?”

Her throat was raw from
singing so she hissed at him instead, tugging at her tangled hair.

“You will recover,” he
said, letting go of the bars. “And you marry him. Sonneillon still
needs us. And if you do not recover, he will marry you anyway. I gave
my permission. If he must keep you locked up here for all eternity,
it will matter not as long as the ceremony is held and an heir
produced. You don’t need to be sane for the second, and we can make
you sane for the first. Your mother could tell you that.”

He paused now, and Tristesse
chuckled, low and rough. She hadn’t thought of her mother in
decades. There was little comfort in the thought of her now.

“But for my own pride, I
have requested he give you time,” her father said. “I will not
see our family further disgraced and marginalised by your behaviour.
So you will recover, daughter, and spare me the shame of dragging you
to the Cathedral in chains.”